


Mass Effect: Attrition

by Lesbian_Shark



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, C-Sec, Cerberus - Freeform, Clubbing, F/F, F/M, Investigations, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Renegade Commander Shepard, Turian Female Spectre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-30 01:19:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3917875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesbian_Shark/pseuds/Lesbian_Shark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander Shepard is on the race to stop Saren from his nefarious plans. However, this is not the story of this heroine. Rather, it is about others who played a part in the coming years. Those who work behind the scenes in the shadows and those at the forefront. Those who would tear down all Shepard cares for and those desperately trying to hold it together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mass Effect: Attrition

2183 C.E.

* * *

Dusk now looms over a mansion and has brought with it a detachment of Eclipse mercenaries. They are led by Milos Erok, a former STG operative. He has a distinctive lime green skin tone, uncommon but not impossible for Salarians. At least the yellow stripes on his chin matched his armor’s color.

Eclipse is here to extract a wealthy businessman, Robert Miller, under the cover of darkness. They are also responsible for removing any incriminating information without any obvious holes. The man is under heavy investigation for human trafficking; a shipment of kidnapped teenagers was found among one of his ship’s cargo. And so, planetary authorities may be keeping a close eye on him but the task force has so far eluded them.

When Erok first arrives, he notes that Miller spends his money frivolously; his mansion is full of decorative clutter, the worst offender being extravagant use of indoor fountains. One of his subordinates shines light on a family picture and jokes, “There’s no way his wife didn’t marry him for his money.”

“Cut the chatter,” Erok mutters, “Only speak if it is vital.” To him, mercenaries were the least disciplined soldiers he had ever encountered. The STG’s professionalism is the one thing he misses about working for them.

A loud noise comes from one of the rooms. He signals for a couple of his men to follow him to check the situation. They breach the door and find a room filled with shoddy artwork, including a shattered vase near an open window. After a few moments, he concludes that the sharp winds knocked it over.

“The VIP has been secured, commander. Our engineers are altering the files and packing the servers as we speak.”

“Very good,” Erok replies before going leaving the room. “You know the drill, report in on a regular basis.” Their onsite force is weaker than he prefers due to the nature of their assignment. A detachment of mechs and less-experienced troopers are on standby due to their lack of finesse.

“Kitchen is clear.”

He theorizes that if the situation called for reinforcements, then the situation could not be salvaged in the first place.

“Nothing over here.”

Smuggling personnel tends to be less lucrative than this job. The down payment rivaled some of the total revenue from their lower end jobs and it did not come from Miller. All of these thoughts keep him on edge. He concludes his superiors had gotten greedy this time; their employer left out a lot of information.

“Commander, the water in the fountain here seems to be mixed with blood. There’s no body, though.”

Without a second thought, Erok orders the team to regroup back at Miller’s safe room. None of the police could systematically eliminate his elite without anyone noticing until now. If anything, the presence of police would slow down any intruders. Subterfuge no longer matters; only extracting the target. “Destroy the rest of the data. Call in the reinforcements. Now!”

* * *

“Come on, the commander is waiting,” an Eclipse operative calls out to his straggling partner.

“And the commander can keep waiting. We need to finish up our sweep.”

“It’s your ass on the line, not mine.”

The straggler opens up the door to a bedroom. It is likely a boy’s due to the navy blue bed sheets with spaceships tacked on. Also, the dresser has numerous action figures on top of it. From the looks of it, the boy is a fan of N7 soldiers, such as the first human Spectre, Commander Shepard. “Good thing the kid isn’t here,’ he comments, somewhat to his partner but mostly to himself. “They always make missions more difficult.”

Right when he turns around, he catches a glimpse of a female turian’s face before a dagger is inserted straight into his larynx; shields never save people from a sudden stab. The blood spurts out of his throat as he tries to alert his comrade but to no avail. Some of it ends up on her face, blending in with her red tattoos.

He is pushed over onto the bed as he tries to rip her the dagger out of his throat. His face may be covered by his helmet but both of them know that he is utterly terrified of dying. “Hush, hush, no need to struggle any longer,” she tells him in a disturbingly gentle tone as the last bit of fight leaves him.

The dead man’s partner, likely alerted by the sound of a dropping gun, calls out, “You okay over there?” Not waiting for a response, he starts to call in the rest of his ops team. However, before he can speak a word a gloved hand wraps around his throat. His assault rifle is kicked out of reach as his assailant, an asari, pulls him to the ground. Still, he manages to pull out his sidearm and fire off a couple of shots into the ceiling. But just as deftly as before, she disarms him and uses his own pistol to execute him.

The turian runs out in the hallway, leaving a trail of blood from her knife. “You could not have been louder, Ophala.”

“You let your mark drop his weapon,” the asari notes, moonlight gleaming off of her purple face. “You are remarkably clumsy for a Spectre.”

“Enough you two, we have work to do.” Another turian, male and more heavily armored, approaches the pair, drawing two of his favored submachine guns. His armor is equipped with propulsion jets; he is the propagator of their usage amongst the Armiger Legion. He loads in disruptor rounds, the perfect choice for shredding shields to leave enemies vulnerable to his compatriots biotic abilities.

Syrou gives off a sly smirk. " Looks like it is once again time for you to mow down an entire batallion of soldiers.."

Nevarus mumbles under his breath. Syrou idolizes his abilities far too much for his liking. Though she would never admit, she needs him in order to carry out her more difficult missions, especially when the situation goes loud. They both knew, in terms of martial skill, he would be a much better candidate to be a Spectre. In fact he was offered the position but turned it down.

And though his squad mates are quite capable, Nevarus views them as woefully unprepared. Neither wears a helmet, which appears to be a tradition among asari and due to hubris on Syrou’s part.

Also, in his eyes, asari soldiers are standardly under equipped. Their biotic barriers may protect them but without it they are little more than harlots in skintight suits. For that reason, he believes that those who claim that asari commandos are the most fearsome of all have not experienced a turian veteran’s prowess.

And he has every right to believe that. Back in the Relay 314 Incident, or First Contact War as the Alliance refers to it, Nevarus annihilated dozens of Alliance soldiers. But his greatest achievement in that conflict was staving off an assault to ensure his nearby comrades would return home safely.

That is only the beginning of his merits, however. He has partaken in battles with nearly every foe imaginable; Eclipse is mere child’s play to him.

And just as expected, the assault on the Eclipse mercenaries is simple enough. First Syrou ambushes them and overloads their shields and weapons. Then Nevarus unleashes a torrent of gunfire onto them as they scurry for cover. Those that live are soon brought back into the hailstorm by Ophala’s biotic powers.

“Eclipse reinforcements and planetary police are inbound,” Nevarus shouts right after his weapons overheat. He swaps them out for an identical pair of submachine guns and continues to barrage the mercenaries. “Watch your fire from now on.”

“Says the guy firing two sub-machine guns!” Syrou shouts back before delivering a precise headshot on an unfortunate asari, the remains of her skull splattering on whom she identifies as the Eclipse commander.

* * *

Erok wipes the blood off his face before realizing there is a chunk of flesh stuck in his throat. His hands claw at his neck before he manages to force himself to hurl out a piece of his former comrade’s skull and brains along with the contents of his stomach. A shame too; he had a spectacular dinner before the mission. The sickening thought that some of the visceral went down his throat sticks to his mind before he realizes all hope is lost.

After spitting out any remaining vomit, he bellows, “Forget the servers, fall back to the evac zone! Deploy mines, barricades, whatever you got! Keep Miller close and out of fire!” He makes sure to personally grab the VIP and escort him back towards the landing zone. Unfortunately, the human is less than fit and his extra pudge makes it hard to drag him around.

_Police special forces? No, couldn’t be. Too advanced to be Blue Sun or especially Blood Pack. Spectre? This human warrants Spectre intervention? Too many details left out. Stupid, greedy higher ups. Always good to ask questions._

The arrival reinforcements delay the assault force but none of them confirm a kill on the channels. He expected as much. At this rate, he hopes to, at the very least save his own skin, and finish the minimum part of the job. “Where are you taking me?” Miller asks, panting from the exertion.

“Shut up, no time to talk.” Erok lets out a sigh of relief when he sees one of the shuttles soar in. However, when the doors open, he sees a man in white and black armor sitting at the driver’s seat. What stands out though are his arms. They are clearly metallic but not part of his armor. Rather, his arms appear to be completely mechanical appendages. The figure stares at him through his gold visor until, in a mere instant, Erok is flat on his face. It is moments after that he realizes that both of his feet have been sliced off.

“I see you spared no expense when I asked you to incapacitate him.” the driver states after Erok’s screeching mouth has been gagged. “Remember, we need him alive.”

“He doesn’t need feet to live,” another voice, female, replies. The salarian’s head is tilted up by whom he presumes is the one who spoke earlier. She is dressed in a skintight black suit with white embellishments. A bright light shines over his eyes before he is slammed back into the ground.“This is our guy,” she states before applying medi-gel to stop the bleeding from his severed limbs. Then she hoists him up and tosses him into the back of the shuttle.

“You are in an awful rush today, darling. You seem to be forgetting something. But do not fret, I will take care of it.”

* * *

“Hold your fire, this is Spectre business!” Syrou shouts from behind cover. Planetary forces have been firing upon both them and Eclipse, making their work much more difficult.

“They aren’t going to relent. Syrou, go after the target. Ophala, place as many officers as you can under statis when they are in cover. I will focus on the remaining mercenaries.”

Nevarus tended to give sound advice and this time did not seem any different to Syrou. She turns on her tactical cloak and progresses towards enemy lines. Though she could go straight ahead, she notices the Eclipse are inflicting severe casualties to the planetary forces. She decides she cannot leave them to fight alone.

One of her targets includes an Eclipse marksman decloaks when he fires a shot that obliterates an unfortunate officer’s head. Before he can hide again, Syrou drives her blade straight into his visor. “That is how you use cloaking,” she whispers to him before ripping her knife out of him. Dead or alive, her work with him was done.

Unexpectedly, one of the remaining Eclipse soldiers shouts, “We surrender!” The survivors toss down their weapons and hold their hands high. Authorities move in to capture everyone inside, including her teammates.

“Turn yourselves in; the Council will have us released,” Syrou tells her team before running off to follow Miller’s trail. However, at the expected evac zone, she finds a pair of salarian feet lying on the ground next to one Richard Miller, at least an unrecognizable human wearing the same suit. From the looks of it, he was put down on his knees before being shot point blank in the head. The sight itself does not sicken her but rather the malice behind it. Add his murder to the missing commander results in a hundred questions running through her mind.


End file.
